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Catherine, that was her name.

tall, raven haired, with warm gold-brown eyes,

which flashed with good humour,

like deep pools of honey.

Flippant, loving and scathing,

all in one breath, as northern girls are.

She could crush me with a frown,

and a hard word would open the dreadful trap-door

under my soul.

I didn’t know this was love!

We were only seven.



All the long summer,

we played in the yard,

of the old church school.

Then one day, she was gone.

„Sick“, said the teacher, „she’ll be off for a while!“.

But, why was she crying?

I didn’t really miss her,

not until she came back.

I was only seven.



I saw her that morning, standing ridgid, in the yard.

Thrilled, I ran to greet her and grabbed her arm.

She pulled away violently.

Eyes flashing with tears, hate and revulsion,

and wordlessly, she wet herself.

A wall of girls closed around her,

and pushed me away.

The girls knew, they always do,

And they were only seven.



That, was the last time I saw her.

She went to a convent school,

away from the touch of men,

where she bided her time until she was old enough.

To open the vein.

I didn’t know why, not for many years!

I was a boy,

and I was only seven.



Together we learnt the faith.

Our father....,The creed,

and "Thou shalt not kill".

But if I could find her rapist.

I can think of no fate finer,

than to be damned.

I would happily go to hell!

She was after all,

Only seven.



Twenty-seven long years passed.

Empty, cold, hard years.

Then I saw her again, fleetingly.

Tall, raven haired, with warm gold-brown eyes,

which flash with good humour,

like deep pools of honey,

in the face of the one I have since made my wife.

Who with a smile, and a kind word,

closed the trapdoor under my soul.